Thunderous Thoughts - Draco's POV - Sink Scene
by HobbitOfRohan
Summary: 2 SHOT. This is a rewrite of the movie scene in which Draco is sobbing over the sink... except this time, it's in his point of view. What are his thoughts behind his tears?
1. Chapter 1

Draco could swear he heard thunder. Not rolling in the skies above Hogwarts, but instead creating a horrible symphony inside his head. A symphony of imagined voices, ideas, accusations, pressing against his thoughts. Fear was awaking in his mind, guilt following closely.

Depression was suddenly gripping him, accompanied by fear. And Draco hated it. His mind was afraid, his actions suddenly felt heavy… but he knew it couldn't be happening. He couldn't be weak in this way. He couldn't break down: not now. He was finally becoming more powerful, had finally spoken with the Dark Lord, had finally gotten the dark mark upon his arm. He was so close to destroying Potter once and for all, while securing his place in history.

So why did the future seem so hopelessly dark for him in that moment?

The feeling had been rising like bitter bile in the back of his throat for so long, but now it erupted into the present as he watched Potter converse with Katie Bell in the great hall. He stood stalk still in the center of the tables, watching. Harry was obviously asking Katie if she remembered who had cursed her. Draco saw her shaking her head, eyes sad and filled with remorse. Fear. Like she understood she had started a whole new mystery.

Harry lowered his head, disappointed, and Draco felt a surge of irrational anger that did not match his motives at all. Katie had been through terrible, horrible times, and yet, all Harry cared about was who cursed her? All he cared to ask was who had hurt her? That stupid Potter was no better than Draco himself. Draco clenched his jaw. Katie looked past Harry's shoulder, and fixed eyes with him for a second.

Fear burst through Draco. He stared back, eyes wide, pleading for her to not alert Harry. But it was too late: the cursed boy had turned and saw Draco. Draco felt his breath leave his chest, and suddenly he had to get away. Turning, he pushed past a gaggle of first years. The room began to spin around him.

Had to escape. Had to get away. Had to be safe.

He reached the outside of the great hall, and was relieved that no teacher stood out to stop him. His feet took him faster and faster. But the echoing of footsteps behind him told Draco that Potter was following.

That horrible, horrible boy.

Draco walked faster, urgency in his steps. _Just leave me, Potter. Leave me alone._ Draco wanted to turn and shout those words at his pursuer. _You aren't meant to save the world, you rubbish boy. Let someone else come after me. Just leave me alone!_ Draco's cardigan was tight over his chest. He turned a corner, welcoming the dark winding passages of the inside of Hogwarts. Maybe, just maybe there was a chance he'd lose the boy.

An empty birdcage swung from the rafters as Draco passed. His eyes flitted to it, jealousy fueled towards the bird that had the chance to escape from its confines. Draco wanted so badly to be free, but here he was, running from Potter. He bit into his lip so hard he could taste blood. Clenching has hands tight, he turned another corner.

Potter's footsteps faded to barely audible. Draco burst into the bathroom, the mirror in front of him reflecting the image he hated with all of his being: his face. His trademark sneer, pale white hair: all of it offended his heart. He was such a hideous creature. Powerful! Yes! But hideous.

Bending over the sink, he felt rage boil inside of him. He reached back, pulling his overshirt over his head with such force it wrenched his neck. He struggled with it for a moment, anger fueling his erratic movement. When it came over his head, he threw it to the ground, biting into his lip.

Rocking back and forth, he stared into the eyes of his own reflection. Strands of hair hung down over his forehead: the opposite of his usually upheld image. Fear felt like it was the only thing that kept his heart pumping. He clenched the sink, wishing he could let it shatter in his hands. Maybe the force of glass in his skin would give him an excuse to hurt.

As he stared at the mirror, images of what were to come flashed through his head. He suddenly began to realize: there was no way he could make it through this. He suddenly wished he could just be like everyone else. Blissfully ignorant. That he could go back down to the great hall, finish his food, and have the most of his stress amount to Quidditch tryouts. But he was stuck in his cycle that he had been thrust into against his will. Did he ask for this? Did he ask for death eater, parents? Did he ask that the Dark Lord gave him this task? His mother had said it was an honor to give his life in service, but where was the honor in being used like a coin? Being tossed to the side as soon as he was worthless.

Draco wished, then, that he could be normal. That he could turn from his ways. But it was too late for that. Far too late. If he turned now, he'd be murdered specifically. He was sure Voldemort did not take kindly to traitors.

So all he could do was cry. And for the first time, as Draco stood sobbing over the sink, he wished someone would comfort him. He wished that someone could come to his rescue. The wizarding world was focusing so heavily on those the Dark Lord hunted, and Draco wished they could see that some of the biggest victims were Voldemort's closest friends. He wished someone would tell him it was okay.

 _I can't do this. I can't do this. I'm scared, I'm so scared._ The words relayed in his brain. _Scared. I'm such a weakling, but I'm scared. I just want to breathe easy again, but I'm scared. I just want to feel the sun, and soak in the moon, but the only future I can see is death. Death killing those who have not wronged me._


	2. Chapter 2

And through this all, there was no doubt in his mind that he would continue the task set before him. Through it all, no rebellion showed through. Anguish, yes. Fear, yes. But he knew what he had to do.

" _I'm sorry,"_ he whispered. " _I'm so, so sorry. I never wanted to become this. I never wanted to be Draco Malfoy."_

He was so broken inside that he barely heard the words come from Potter. "I know what you did, Malfoy."

That cruel, stupid, no good boy. Draco was crying his eyes out, and he still only thought to accuse! Draco's blood boiled. "You hexed her, didn't you?"

He could stop right now. Draco could stop crying, and admit to it. He could hold his hands out to Potter, and ask for help. He could tell Potter he didn't want to do it anymore, and Dumbledore could have ensured his safety. All he had to do was surrender. It would be so easy. Friends, love, hope, kindness… it was there, standing in front of him. People were forgiving. No one even knew he had the dark mark yet. He could go back, couldn't he?

Draco raised his wand, and sent a blast towards Potter.

Potter dodged it with ease. Perhaps Draco hadn't entirely wished to hurt him. He sent a return shot that shattered the horrible mirror that revealed Draco's face. Draco dove to the side, thrusting himself to his feet a mere moment after he slammed into the ground.

They dueled. Draco sprinted and hid, sending wild shots towards Potter. The air in the bathroom was suddenly raining with sink water. The walls were damp, as was the floor. It slipped under Draco's feet as he struggled to escape, sprinting through the winding room. It was dark, but the moon shining through the windows cast the world in a faint blue glow.

Draco rounded another corner, coming face to face with Potter. The boy's eyes were unsteadily fixed on Draco, avoiding his eyes. He raised his wand, words on his lips, to counter Potter. But Potter screamed a curse that Draco did not know.

Immediately, pain flashed through Draco. His brain went dark, and he fell. The ground met him with great force, but it was nothing compared to the invisible knife that tore through his shirt and into his chest. There was silence from Potter's end, but Draco did not notice. He was gasping for breath through the overwhelming pain.

Water flowed around Draco's hands, dripping from his fingers. The moon shone in a shaft over his face, which was calm despite the horror spreading in his head.

So this was it? This was how he was going to die? At the hands of the Potter boy, bleeding out on the floor of the bathroom?

His eyes were vacant as he stared. Maybe this was good. He would slip into the warm pain, and never have to face Voldemort again. He would never have to stare down his wand as he killed those he loved. It was easier this way: to die a martyr for his cause. Before Dumbledore found out that he had schooled a killer.

Draco closed his eyes.

Was this it?


End file.
